What Made Her Different
by Moniquita2
Summary: Agatha Shepard, before the events of ME1, meets the two other great representatives of humanities potential, Akuze's Sole Survavor and The Butcher of Torfan. Because she has something to clear up. Colonist, War Hero origin. Oneshot. Rated T for some foul language.


**Author's Note: I should be working on Well I Won't Stand Here Doing Nothing, I know, but I had to write this. Also, if you see an interesting line, just know… pun intended.**

Commander Shepard was considered a woman of respect and honor.

Unless you came across reporters like Al-Jilani, and ambassadors like Donnel Udina, it was hard to find people in Citadel Space who didn't look up to the great figure, who didn't admire her, even the majority aliens thought her especial. Her rescue of Elysium, it was said, was but a hint, what brought her to the spot light and revealed her potential to the attention it deserved. She was the greatest example of what humanity could offer.

Agatha Shepard, however, had a hard time swallowing that interpretation. The Skillian Blitz held for her terrible memories, and while she saved a lot of people, she also had to sacrifice many, and the only reason she wasn't part of those sacrificed was with dumb luck. She gave civilians weapons, without neither training nor prior experience into a fray she knew most, if any, wouldn't come out of. She made no discrimination of gender, but of age. She took every volunteer with her, except those who were too young, or too old, lest it was apparent they didn't care for life much. The rest she hid, in the city's corner on an underground bunker. The residents didn't know about it, but such a big colony and great touristic location under constant raid threat had taken its precautions, if it turned out empty because no one really thought their worst fears would come to fruition. All she did, and rather badly at that, was trace the footsteps of those who had been thoughtful, and organize the terrified mobs. Any person in the heat of the moment, inspired, could do the same; all you needed was a confident front and a plan. That's how she saw it, and when she told her mentor, Anderson, the grim reality, he insisted she was a goddamn hero, and that she didn't give herself enough credit. "You know I won't bullshit you, and what you did down there was something few damn people in the universe are capable of. You could never had saved everyone, no one could have." He said. And while she knew the last statement to be true, she couldn't quite shake off the weight over her soul. Civilians dying were just wrong, out of place. They never signed up to any such risk. It took her a while to take it out of her mind, and any time she was overcome by the memory, she felt a flash of fury, of grief. If she was alone, and she had anything in hand, she'd throw it against a wall before taking a breath, emptying her mind, and doing whatever she had to do at the moment. Every time she saw one of the survivors, however, she couldn't help but smile, seeing them happy and breathing softened something she had never wanted to harden in the first place. She had gotten used of people calling her hero, and while she didn't agree to it, feeling uncomfortable because she didn't feel she deserved the tittle was just stupid. They would never stop, and that was what she'd been branded, for better or for worse. So, she moved on, kept a tight hold of those events in her life, but she thought, what she did, could still be defined as moving on. Except for a lingering desire she had, to demonstrate, if not to the rest, to herself, that she was right, that she was not the grander than life heroine. And then, she heard.

The Butcher of Torfan and Akuze's Sole Survivor, or as she knew from experience, how they probably liked to be known, Franklin Brooch, and Natalie Seltzer. One was portrayed as the exact opposite of her, everything everyone feared of humanity, thus the worst in the best that humanity could offer. And Natalie, she showed undirected capability, great potential. They were the second and third to her first, apparently.

So, Agatha talked to a few people, charmed them into helping, intimidated some into cooperating, and collected a few favors from some contacts. And she met them. The great three figures that represented humanity walked into a bar, a much closed off, and private, old fashioned one, and went to the one table that had been reserved for them.

Getting conversation flowing and falling into their good graces was going to be a challenge. Before Agatha even got a 'hi' in, Brooch began complaining.

"So, what is this? I am only interested in this if there is something really important for me to do. If this is the angel punishing the devil, wanting to clean him of his evils so that he can help make the universe a better place…" He leaned forward into the table, eyes hard and meeting hers head on. "Listen, sweetheart, if that is your plan, you may as well stand up and go away, or leave with broken ribs and a ruined reputation."

Agatha was surprised by his early aggressiveness, both because he must have expected it to be effective and 'cause she didn't think she did anything to offend the man, but as much as she resented the part of her brain that did it, she was prepared for such an approach. She didn't blink, her mouth didn't twitch, and she remained unaffected, her expression unchanged. "Neither was my plan." She answered, and then, she turned to Seltzer. "Hey, nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Was the woman's response, efficient and to the point. She was just waiting to see what happened, neutral.

And then, Agatha addressed them both. "I know this may seem like a waste of time. But for the time you think lost here I promise my support should you ever need it."

Brooch smirked, as if proclaiming that he was _so_ going to use it. And Seltzer… she just nodded.

Agatha felt tempted to go right out and say it, just throw herself in, voicing her intent. Say "Hey, I want to know how accurate out reputations really are. Tell me about your life changing experiences that brought you to public attention." But she was optimistic, not idealistic. No, instead she proclaimed, "We'll just talk for a while, enjoy ourselves. Want a drink?"

Brooch was just down-right distrustful, and even though he requested something that would knock a Krogan dead, she had a feeling it would not even make him tipsy. And Seltzer was evidently uncomfortable with the idea of drinking, and just asked for a tonic. Agatha herself asked for an alcoholic drink, but a soft one. And she began. At first what could be considered polite conversation with two officers such as her, but then, a third into the drink, but not thanks to its effects, she cursed, she complained, used their first names and she gesticulated. She noted each of their responses, finding neutral ground, familiar ground, safe ground, risky ground, and especially, shared ground. Slowly, she saw them get more into the conversation, their lack of lost love for politics, their outrage at stupidity, their annoyance at the reporters and so many things; all save but constantly present topics in their lives. They didn't know what her intention was, but they could feel what she was about, and it made them both relax a bit. Franklin was much quicker, much rasher, more outspoken. Natalie was soft-spoken, prudent, analytic, but attentive, her eyes flitting, taking in everything, taking each question in stride. And then, when Agatha knew continuing in the same line would bring them suspicions, she changed her tactic. She poured her heart out. Not about Mindior, but about Elysium, and not the overall overview. No, she r-counted each sweat, each moment of doubt, each event in chronological order, and her decisions, the reasons behind her decisions. Now, they knew what she wanted, and she could see it, they related, they understood. She hadn't hoed for that, she hadn't known what to expect, when she did it she wasn't looking for solace, she was trying to reach an objective. Her incredibly personal revelations were an impersonal act for a personal goal, making her openness possible. Not unlike her talk with the first psychologist that was ever presented to her, that even when she knew the poor worker really didn't understand a thing she said, she spoke. They knew what she wanted now, she had made a bargain with them before they had time to refuse, they had already received their part, and they had to pay back up.

It was beautiful to see those two admirable people suddenly open up to her, like flowers in bloom.

And it scared her.

Everything they told, their thoughts, their reasons, their ways of thinking, were all too familiar, too agreeable. She found that she was not that different from those two, and put in their positions, she felt she would do exactly the same.

They had almost the same convictions.

She was the optimist; she saw the potential in everyone and had the patience for it.

Franklin was a pessimist that enjoyed the cynicism of his view, had a life that encouraged putting everything into dry perspective, and was a hot-head who didn't like losing time.

Natalie was one who just thought on her feet, didn't form opinions until she had the full picture. And then, she could go either ways. But she wasn't particularly driven into doing this or that, she didn't create goals for herself, she needed the mission objective.

And when she bid them goodbye, they were warm. Natalie gave a somewhat shy smile, and Franklin a one armed hug. Never called her.

Circumstance put them where they were. Made them who they were.

She had proved it, she realized.

She hadn't done anything especial; she just did what she could.

But she realized something else…

…goddamn few people did everything they could…

…and the way she went around about it…

…it was what differentiated her from those two.


End file.
